


Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

by earlgreytea68



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being adventurous is a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Не говори, что я тебя не предупреждал](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016130) by [hirasava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirasava/pseuds/hirasava)



> My prompt for the "Come at Once" LJ challenge was "don't say I didn't warn you."
> 
> Translated into Russian here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5016130

“Honey,” repeats John. 

“Honey,” Sherlock confirms. 

“Honey,” John says again. 

“Yes,” snaps Sherlock impatiently. “Do keep up. Honey. Honey, as you know, has lots of excellent qualities.” 

“No argument there,” says John, “you lecture upon them frequently at great length.” 

“Melissopalynology is a field of study well worth one’s time.” 

“I don’t know what that is,” says John, “but I’m going to take your word for it.” 

“So,” says Sherlock. “Honey.” 

“Despite honey’s many excellent qualities, I predict that it would be very messy in bed.” 

Sherlock waves his hand impatiently. “Everything is messy in bed, John.”

“Mm-hmm,” says John, and sips his tea. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

***

“Ow ow ow ow ow,” says Sherlock, writhing. 

“Hold still,” John says. “Let me just scrub it out—”

“How did the honey get _there_?” says Sherlock mournfully, flinching away from John. “There is honey on every follicle of hair on my body.” 

“Uh-huh,” says John. He is not feeling especially charitable because, well, he _did_ warn Sherlock. 

“My _hair_ ,” wails Sherlock. 

***

“But I don’t understand why we’ve never tried it,” says Sherlock. 

“Because I hate it,” says John. “You think it’s going to be hot and steamy but the truth is the shower’s only going to reach one of you and the other one of you will basically be cold, and the tile’s hard and slippery and you have to be very careful, and then in the end you wind up tangled underneath the shower curtain.” 

Sherlock frowns at him. “I just don’t think you’ve been doing it right.” 

John sighs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

***

“Ow,” says Sherlock, and, “Oof,” and, “Um,” and, “Oh,” and, “Huh.” 

“See?” says John. 

***

“What about if we—”

“Look,” John says. “Not that I don’t applaud your sense of adventure—because I really do—but we don’t need it.” 

Sherlock makes a face. “Don’t be boring, John.” 

“I’m not being boring. We spend our lives at crime scenes.” 

“And that’s adventurous enough?” says Sherlock scathingly. 

“I think you’re drawing too firm a line between crime scenes and our bedroom.” 

Sherlock looks considering. “Do you want to shag at a crime scene?” 

“No, Sherlock, I don’t really want to shag with someone’s dead body next to us.” 

Sherlock scowls. “Then I don’t see the point of this conversation.” 

John smiles into his cup of tea. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

***

“This,” spits out Sherlock, “is a singularly uninteresting crime.” 

“It’s a murder,” Lestrade points out. 

Sherlock gives him a look. “A run-of-the-mill murder. Open-and-shut case. Even you should be able to see the clues.” 

Lestrade just looks blank. _Of course_ Lestrade looks blank. Sherlock gestures with his hand and is about to point to the main obvious clue that Lestrade is apparently missing—

—when John very deliberately bends over. Normally John crouches at crime scenes when he has to bend over. This is bending at the waist, so that Sherlock has a sudden face full of John’s arse. 

Sherlock stops talking entirely. How is he supposed to talk when… _that_?

“Well?” prompts Lestrade. 

Apparently Lestrade is not the least bit distracted by John’s arse. Probably because Lestrade doesn’t notice it. Really, Lestrade notices _nothing_. 

Sherlock gathers his thoughts and says, “Surely you see that—”

John straightens and turns to Sherlock and licks his lips. Obscenely. Sherlock falls silent, the better to track the path of John’s tongue. 

“Sherlock?” says Lestrade. 

John purses his lips and then smiles innocently. “Okay, Sherlock?” he asks.

Sherlock clears his throat and turns away from John, because if he can’t see John, John can’t distract him. 

“If you look right here,” Sherlock begins again, pointing. 

John leans right over him, breath hot behind Sherlock’s ear. “Right there?” he murmurs, his voice deep in a way that makes Sherlock think immediately of sex. “What is it we’re meant to be looking at?” John is on the opposite side of Sherlock from Lestrade, which apparently makes him think it’s safe to blow onto Sherlock’s earlobe. 

Sherlock shakes his head a little bit to try to shake off the effect of that and takes a step away from John. Lestrade is looking at him strangely, so Sherlock says, “Right. As I was saying—”

“Sherlock, I think you don’t have quite the angle you need there,” John tells him, and lays a hand on his arm. 

Sherlock feels the heat of it through the several layers he’s wearing like a brand. He’s powerless to resist as John tugs him closer. John’s hands skim down Sherlock’s sides, resting lightly on his hips, positioning him with careful, gentle nudges so that he’s standing in front of John, both of them ostensibly facing the dead body. 

Except that Sherlock isn’t thinking about the dead body. 

John presses lightly up against him and says, “There you go, that’s the angle you want, right there, just like that, hmm?” 

Sherlock closes his eyes and says, his voice sounding strangled, “Lestrade, we’re going to need a moment.”

“With the body?” asks Lestrade blankly. “Take all the time you need.” 

“How unobservant can you possibly be?” snaps Sherlock. “No. Not with the body. _Obviously_.” 

“Wha…?” Lestrade just blinks at them as Sherlock grabs John’s hand and drags him out of the room and into the next room. 

“Has this room already been swept for evidence?” asks John innocently, as Sherlock slams the door shut and presses John up against it. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to shag right next to a dead body,” gasps Sherlock, making short work of John’s trousers, reaching into his pants. 

“Well—we’re—we’re not— _right_ next to—”

Sherlock drops to his knees and John stops talking. And then Sherlock pauses, looks up at John through his eyelashes. “This could get messy,” he warns. 

“Yeah, I’m okay with that,” pants John. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” says Sherlock.


End file.
